


The Flag Unfurled

by mistyzeo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fireworks, First Time, Fourth of July, Frottage, M/M, Madison - Freeform, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack arrives in Atlanta in the early afternoon on the third of July, and Eric has baked four pies overnight out of sheer nervousness. Nothing can go wrong. Everything is fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flag Unfurled

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look, Eric Bittle lost his virginity in the back of that pickup on the 4th of July, and can't nobody tell me otherwise. This fic is very late; it is August. Don't @ me.
> 
> Thanks owed to 1electricpirate & esterbrookfic for beta reads!

Jack arrives in Atlanta in the early afternoon on the third of July, and Eric has baked four pies overnight out of sheer nervousness. Jack has met Suzanne already, so what’s the problem? She adores Jack. Coach is going to love him too, probably, hopefully, considering how much Suzanne and Eric rave about him. Nothing can go wrong. Everything is fine.

Eric’s heart is pounding so hard he’s starting to feel a little nauseated. Every text he and Jack have sent each other over the last two months is racing through his head: every little update, every chirp, every bit of flirting. Twice the flirting got adventurous, a little hypothetical, and Eric can’t scroll back through it on his phone in public. It’s indecent. Even thinking about it, surrounded by strangers at the Hartsfield-Jackson International terminal, makes his knees weak.

Two months. Two months since he last saw Jack in person—since Jack kissed him, good Lord—and Skyping doesn’t count even though they’ve been doing that twice a week, and now Jack’s plane from Montreal has landed, and Jack has to be going through Customs, has to be picking up his luggage, has to be… coming through the arrival doors, his blue Falconers cap sticking out above the crowd. Eric’s heart leaps and he freezes, terrified that Jack won’t see him and not entirely ready for the moment that he does.

They make eye contact and Jack’s whole face lights up. He grins, spreading his arms, and Eric can’t help it. He starts towards Jack, breaking into a jog, and by the time they meet he is airborne: Jack catches him in his arms and crushes him in a hug. Eric buries his face in Jack’s neck, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. Jack smells like body wash and stale air and it’s so good Eric could cry. Almost. A little bit. He wipes his eyes as Jack lets him down to the floor, and they hug again. Jack’s chest is _very_ firm. His hands on Eric’s back are enormous.

“Hey,” Eric manages, stepping back. His gaze drops to Jack’s mouth. God, he wants to kiss this boy. Not here.

Jack smiles, brushing a hand down the outside of Eric’s arm. “Hey, Bits.”

“That didn’t take you long at all.”

Jack shifts his bag on his shoulder. “I didn’t check any luggage.”

“Oh, good,” Eric says. This is stupid. Talking to Jack has been so easy lately, even before graduation. Why is it hard now? Everything he wants to say is stuck in his throat.

“Let’s get out of here, eh?” Jack says.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

The truck is parked in short term, and Jack starts to laugh when Eric unlocks it remotely and the lights flash. To be fair, it is _huge_ : extended cab, four doors, so high off the ground Eric has to actually _climb_ into the driver’s seat. Jack chucks his bag in the back and gets in on his side with no extra grunting or hauling on the handle. Eric mutters to himself about big Canadians and unfair distribution of genetics, but as soon as the doors close Jack’s hand covers his.

“Hey,” Jack says again, more softly, as Eric turns towards him. He’s so close, right there, in Eric’s truck, smiling his sweet smile. Eric has loved that smile since the first time he saw it directed his way. It’s nothing at all to close the distance and kiss him.

Jack’s lips are warm and a little chapped; Jack Zimmermann? Not hydrating? Eric kisses Jack again, more firmly, his eyes sliding shut. Jack’s smell fills the truck, familiar and exciting. Jack squeezes his hand.

“I missed you,” Jack says, practically against Eric’s mouth.

“Jack…”

“Big backseat you’ve got here.”

Eric laughs, embarrassed at the way his pulse kicks, and he fumbles his keys into the ignition. “Do not tempt me, Mr Zimmermann,” he says, starting the engine.

Jack just shrugs and sits back, smirking. As they back out of the parking spot, his fingers wander across the center console and come to rest on Eric’s bare thigh. It’s July in Atlanta: Eric’s running shorts are, admittedly, pretty short; it was hot this morning. Jack’s touch is like an electric shock, and Eric stifles a gasp. He shoots Jack a glare as they pull up to the parking pay window.

“For that, you can pay.”

Jack grins. “I’ve only got Canadian dollars.”

“Oh my god,” Eric groans, dislodging Jack’s hand to dig for his wallet.

Jack’s hand returns eventually, after they’ve picked a radio station that will sustain them until Madison and Jack has narrated the trials of his flight. He’d been recognized twice, once in the airport and once on the plane, but more traumatizing was the angry baby in the seat in front of him, the snoring man sharing his row, and the loud personal conversation going on behind him for the duration of the flight. Eric pretends not to notice the touch at first, but then Jack slips his little finger under the edge of Eric’s shorts and he has to clamp his hand down over Jack’s.

“I’m serious,” he says, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glare across the cab, “you won’t enjoy this visit as much if you make me crash.”

Jack retreats, but only slightly. Through some miracle, Eric manages to keep the truck on the road for another hour with Jack’s fingertips on his skin. Barely.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

Suzanne is waiting for them when they pulled up to the house: she greets Jack in the doorway with a hug and ushers him inside, straight into the kitchen. The pies Eric made last night are waiting on the counter, all four of them. For a moment, Eric wonders if it would be better to pretend his mama made a few, so he doesn’t get chirped into August for overreacting, or if he should just come clean and take credit for his own work.

It doesn’t matter: Suzanne outs him immediately. “Dicky has been so excited to see you,” she is saying, to his mortification. “It’s like he was waiting for Santa Claus! I tried telling him the sooner he slept the sooner you’d be here, but that didn’t help. He was up all night baking.”

“Aw, Dicky,” Jack chides fondly.

Eric’s mouth falls open, heat suffusing his face. He isn’t sure he can handle the both of them chirping him simultaneously, or Jack calling him Dicky. This is deeply unfair.

To distract them, he says, “Just, lemme take a picture of all y’all,” and does it, before either of them is quite ready. The picture comes out perfect, of course, because Jack never looks anything but, and his mama photographs well.

“Jack, do you want a picture with Dicky on your camera?” Suzanne asks, winking at Eric.

“If Dicky wants,” Jack agrees, his accent just barely audible. His grin is wide.

“Oh my god, stop,” Eric says, looking down at his phone and blushing so hard he can feel his ears get hot. He posts the picture of Jack and his mama on Twitter, unable to resist a smiley face, and says, “Fine, if you want one on the nice camera.”

Jack sets his bag down on the kitchen table and Eric puts his phone in his pocket. Suzanne shoos Jack away from helping her focus the lens; she knows her way around a camera, bless Jack’s heart. Jack slides his arm around Eric’s shoulder, an entirely appropriate touch, and Eric leans into him without thinking. He knows he’s grinning like a fool, but it doesn’t matter because Jack is here! Now! In his house!

“That’s cute,” Suzanne says, looking down at the picture she’d taken. She hands the camera back. “Now, you boys go upstairs; Dicky, let Jack put his things away in your room and freshen up if he wants to. Your father will be home in a few hours. Until then we can try and get through one of these pies.”

“Mama, the pies are for the party tomorrow,” Eric protests.

“Dicky, honey, we have plenty of pie. Go on.”

~*~ _X_ ~*~

Eric leads Jack upstairs, stopping to name all the people in the photographs that decorate the stairway. It’s all family Jack will meet tomorrow afternoon, and Jack seems genuinely determined to be able to identify them all. Finally Eric leaves him behind, scrutinizing a family portrait of all the Bittles and Phelpses within three generations of one another, and peeks into his own bedroom.

There’s an air mattress made up on the floor, and Eric breathes a sigh of relief. Of course his parents don’t expect him and Jack to share a bed, but they don’t expect Jack to sleep on the couch downstairs either. They don’t suspect. They can’t.

The thought makes him grimace, and as he comes in Jack says, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eric says, edging the door almost closed and gesturing to his bed. “Throw your stuff there, if you want.”

Jack hefts his bag onto the bed and looks around the room. It’s still Eric’s childhood bedroom, exactly as it had been in high school: posters on the wall, figure skating trophies on the bookcase, his diploma framed and hanging over the desk. Jack moves slowly around the room, taking in the evidence of Eric’s adolescence. He lingers at the trophies, his expression serious. Eric can usually tell what he’s thinking despite his hockey robot impression, but he’s hard-pressed to say what’s going through his head now.

Jack shifts his attention to the books on Eric’s bookshelf, and now he’s smiling a little, the corner of his mouth turned up.

“No cookbooks, eh Bittle?” he asks.

“They’re downstairs in the kitchen, thank you very much,” Eric says, sitting down on his bed. “Where they’re useful.”

Jack laughs, warm and rich. “I didn’t even think you needed cookbooks.”

“Well you can’t know everything.” Eric leans back on his hands.

“But aren’t all your recipes family recipes?” Jack keeps moving, circling the room, and in a moment he’s in front of Eric, standing almost between his knees.

“Most of the cookbooks are big, old, loose-leaf binders,” Eric says, looking up at him. His heart is beating fast in his chest, goosebumps rising on his arms and legs. It’s cool in the house with the AC on, sure, but not _that_ cold.

Jack’s expression is mock-serious, his chirping face, and he reaches out to touch Eric’s bare knee. Eric spreads his legs a little, breathing light and shallow. Jack leans down, skating his hand up Eric’s leg to his hip, and Eric lifts his chin to meet him for a kiss. Jack’s lips are soft and gentle for the first kiss, but for the second he presses a little harder, and on the third Eric’s mouth opens and Jack’s tongue touches his lip. At the same time, his hand moves up Eric’s side, over his ribs, and he presses Eric back onto the bed. He can’t quite get on _top_ of him, but he slides both hands under Eric’s shoulder blades as he kisses him. He looms, his chest against Eric’s and his hips just resting between Eric’s legs, so big and powerful and gentle. He holds Eric tenderly and kisses him slowly. Eric’s desire spikes, suddenly red hot in his face and deep in his pelvis, and he can feel himself getting hard against Jack’s thigh.

“Oh,” he gasps, pulling away, “Jack!”

“Mm?” Jack takes advantage of the break in the kiss to press his lips to the corner of Eric’s jaw instead. The touch arcs through Eric like lightning.

“We can’t,” he manages, putting his hands on Jack’s chest. “Oh, honey, it’s—”

Jack eases up a bit, gazing seriously into Eric’s face. Eric knows he’s flushed, the way he gets when he’s drunk, and Jack’s hips—Jack’s _thighs_ —are pressing his legs apart, and he is totally hard in his shorts. Jack _has_ to be able to feel it.

Eric whispers, “My mama…”

Jack levers himself upright again, looking contrite, and offers Eric a hand. He pulls Eric to a sitting position and kisses him softly. Eric’s hands find his waist, trim and firm beneath his soft shirt. Jack is hard too, Eric realizes; his erection distorts the fly of his shorts.

Stepping back to give Eric room, Jack says, “You’re right, sorry, she’s waiting for us.”

“Later,” Eric says firmly. “I’m not lettin’ you go that easily.”

Jack rubs the back of his neck with one hand, grinning, a little sheepish. He glances down at Eric’s lap and blushes.

“Oh, lord,” Eric groans. “I can’t go down like this.”

Jack says, “I’ll give you a minute, eh?”

“We both need a minute.”

Jack’s blush deepens and he adjusts himself in his shorts. The look on his face makes Eric giggle, and then Jack joins in, and they’re both laughing like idiots in Eric’s childhood room while his mother waits downstairs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eric sighs, when he’s caught his breath again. Jack grins; Eric has to get up and kiss him.

It could easily end up with them right back on the bed, but Jack pulls away and rests his big hand in the middle of Eric’s chest.

“C’mon,” he says, looking down at Eric warmly, his big blue eyes sparkling. “I hear there’s pie.”

~*~ _X_ ~*~

Suzanne serves up a modest slice of pie for each of them, since they’re having dinner in a few hours and she doesn’t want them to ruin their appetites.

“If you taught Eric everything he knows,” Jack says as they sit in the den with plates on their laps, “I don’t think it’s possible for my appetite to be ruined.”

Eric hears Coach’s car in the driveway, and all at once his heart is hammering again. Suzanne says, “Oh, good, your father’s home,” and gets up to meet him. Eric listens, tense all over, as his father shuts off the car, opens and closes the driver door, and comes up the front steps.

Jack reaches out and squeezes Eric’s forearm. He’s smiling his little smile; as the tension shifts in his gut, Eric is able to return it.

Reassured, and warned by the approaching voices of Eric’s parents in the hall, Jack lets go and stands up, just as Coach appears in the den doorway.

Eric jumps up, thinking to introduce them, but Coach is already sticking out a hand and booming, “This must be Jack Zimmermann!”

“Good to meet you, sir,” Jack says, shaking his hand.

Coach claps Jack on the back and said, “Junior’s been looking forward to your visit for months.”

Eric has already done so much blushing in the last two hours he’s not sure his blood vessels can take it. Good Lord, he’s so _obvious_ about it. How can they not know already?

Jack says, “I’ve been looking forward to it, too,” and smiles at Eric.

 _How_?

Coach gives Jack a little shake and lets him go. Eric can see the line of tension in his back, the way he holds his head up a little higher. He’s nervous, too.

In the hall, Suzanne says, “Rich, you want a beer, honey?”

“Sure,” Coach says. “Jack? You’re old enough, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says.

Coach nods, pleased, and says, “Junior, you can have _one_.”

Eric perks up. “You sure?”

“Sure about _one_ ,” Coach says, and follows Suzanne into the kitchen.

Jack turns to peek at him with a smile creeping onto his face. “Just one, eh? Think you can handle it?”

“Shush, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric says. He has vivid sense-memories of Spring C, and being so drunk Jack _had_ to give him that piggyback ride back to the Haus. There are a lot of things his parents don’t know about him.

Dinner goes smoothly. Jack carries his end of the conversation with ease, telling Suzanne and Coach at length what college hockey is like, and how different it’s going to be to play professionally. 

“I’ll miss Eric,” Jack says, and Eric’s heart almost stops. “It’s not that easy to find someone you just click with on the ice so well. I’ll be starting over with the Falconers.”

“I’m sorry you never made it up for a game, Rich,” Suzanne says. “Those boys are amazing.”

“I’m sure they are,” Coach agrees. “Maybe if y’all play down here, we’ll make it to a game.”

 _Right,_ Eric thinks. Coach _would_ be more excited to see Jack play than to see him. He’d hardly come out to Eric’s games in Madison; expecting him to fly to Massachusetts would be way too much. 

Suzanne catches his eye and smiles reassuringly. “We’ll get you up to Samwell someday,” she says to Coach. “Lots to do around there. We could spend the weekend in Boston!”

“Maybe in the fall,” Coach agrees, polite but not making any promises.

Under the table Jack’s knee touches Eric’s, and Eric pulls a smile together. “That’d be nice,” he says.

After dinner, Jack and Eric rinse dishes and load the dishwasher while Suzanne and Coach find something on TV for them all to watch together. They pick a movie Eric knows Jack will complain about because of its historical inaccuracies, and then take the armchairs, leaving the couch free.

Jack doesn’t seem suspicious at all, and takes the end of the couch closest to Coach. Eric settles himself at the other end, leaving a respectable distance between them.

An hour in, Coach is snoring with his chin on his chest. Suzanne nudges him a few times with her toes across the coffee table, but finally she gets up and says, “You boys finish the movie. I guess we’re going to bed.” She shakes Coach awake and urges him out of the room. Eric listens to them going upstairs and moving around up there, just audible over the cinematic music.

Jack glances at him, and then stretches his legs out casually to bump against Eric’s thigh. His toes are warm in his socks. Eric closes his hand around the top of Jack’s foot.

“We don’t have to finish this movie,” he offers softly.

Jack looks pointedly up at the ceiling and says, “I think we’d better.”

Eric bites his lip and squeezes Jack’s foot.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

An hour later, Eric ushers Jack into his room and listens for a moment in the doorway. Coach is snoring down the hall, but otherwise the house is entirely silent. There’s no sound from the street. It seems like the whole neighborhood is asleep, innocent and oblivious.

Except Jack, who is sitting on Eric’s bed like he belongs there, leaning back and watching Eric with his serious, steady gaze. Eric slips inside and eases the door closed behind him. His heart has started to pound again, thumping in his ears and warming him up all over.

“C’mere, Bits,” Jack whispers, reaching out for him. It’s like a magnet engages behind Eric’s ribs, and he is drawn across the room until he stands between Jack’s spread knees. Like this he’s almost taller than Jack; Jack has to tip his chin up to press their lips together. It steals the breath from Eric’s lungs, and he finds a grip on the sleeves of Jack’s shirt.

Jack kisses him again, slow and soft. Eric feels him sigh and clings harder. Jack’s hands come to rest on his hips. Jack’s hands are fucking huge. They tug Eric in a little, his thighs against the edge of the bed, and at the same time Jack’s tongue touches Eric’s lower lip.

Eric opens his mouth to let him in, and this is a whole new ballgame. Eric has kissed a few boys in his time, but none of them were Jack Zimmermann, who does nothing by halves. Jack’s hand slides to the middle of Eric’s back and presses him closer, and his kiss claims all of Eric’s mouth with one warm sweep. Eric’s knees wobble. He kisses back, mirroring Jack’s technique, and Jack moans softly into his mouth.

It’s almost too much. Eric slides both hands up to cradle Jack’s head, his fingers scratching in Jack’s short hair. Jack is warm everywhere, and he tastes like beer and the bites of pie they snuck after the movie, but Eric needs more. When he shifts his weight, Jack seems to know at once what he’s after; he tugs Eric’s legs up one by one to straddle him, and then Eric is sitting in his lap, plastered to his front. His chest rises and falls against Eric’s, his hands holding Eric in place, and Eric can feel the bulge of Jack’s erection underneath his thigh.

His own dick is trapped in his shorts, uncomfortable in the stupid mesh liner that had seemed like such a good idea on a Georgia summer morning. He should have planned ahead, somehow. Worn real underwear.

Jack is still kissing him, deep and steady; one of his hands creeps up to cradle the back of Eric’s head where his hair is freshly buzzed short, while the other inches down Eric’s lower back, stopping just above the waist of his shorts.

 _Fuck that,_ Eric thinks. He reaches back and pushes Jack’s hand down onto his butt. He’s worked hard on that ass, Jack can at least appreciate it.

Jack groans, digging his fingers in. Eric’s hips jerk, and they break apart. Jack nudges Eric’s chin up with the tip of his nose and begins to kiss down his throat, leaving little bites here and there. They’re not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make Eric’s stomach flip over. He pulls away and kisses Jack again, fingers sunk deep into his hair.

He can’t help listening for his parents. The other end of the hall is so close; Eric has no idea what they might be able to hear. Jack breaks the kiss again, nuzzling Eric’s nose with his own, and whispers, “All right?”

Eric takes a deep breath. “Can we… can we lie down?”

Jack nods, and the loss of his hands on Eric’s body is only made up for by the look in his eyes as Eric slides off his lap. Eric adjusts himself in his shorts, embarrassed, but Jack smiles. He stands up and unfastens his jeans.

“Okay if I take these off?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Eric manages, throat dry. He skims off his shirt in response and leaves it lying on the floor. Jack steps out of his jeans and pulls his socks off. “Shirt too,” Eric says.

Jack grins and his shirt joins Eric’s. Eric has seen him in the nude more than a few times, but never like this—lit only by the streetlamp outside, eyes fixed on Eric, his dick tenting the front of his briefs. Eric climbs onto the bed, on top of the sheets, and lets his knees fall open.

“ _Crisse_ ,” Jack mutters, crawling up to meet him. He kneels between Eric’s legs, elbows planted in Eric’s pillows, and leans down to kiss him, slow and dirty. His tongue plunges into Eric’s mouth and Eric finds himself gasping aloud. Jack pulls back to whisper, “Shh,” and kisses him again.

Eric’s hands wander across Jack’s bare back, skimming down his spine and brushing across his ass. Jack’s ass is a work of art, and Jack’s murmur of encouragement means he can _touch it_. On _purpose_. He does, both hands spreading wide across Jack’s butt. Jack dips his hips, pushing his ass up, and his cock brushes against Eric’s through their clothes.

Eric’s whole body twitches at the contact, pleasure rippling his spine. He feels Jack laugh against his mouth, and then Jack is lowering his hips on purpose, easing his erection alongside Eric’s.

“Fuck,” Eric says, muffled by Jack’s tongue, spreading his legs as wide as they’ll go. He hooks his heels behind Jack’s thighs and drags him closer. Jack’s chest is warm and firm, his hair soft against Eric’s bare skin. Jack’s hands are tucked under Eric’s shoulder blade and behind his neck; he uses his fingers to tilt Eric’s head for a deeper kiss, even as he rocks his hips slowly against Eric’s.

Eric’s heart is thundering against his ribs and he’s already leaking in his shorts. The fabric barrier is nothing compared to the heat of Jack’s body, the stiff length of his dick, the twitch he feels in Jack’s briefs when he scrapes his fingernails against Jack’s scalp.

They should slow down, he thinks, devouring Jack’s mouth. But they’re being so good and quiet; the only thing he can hear is Jack’s rapid breathing and the faint rustle of their clothes against one another. Then the bed creaks as Jack moves his hips again and they both freeze.

Silence surrounds them; it’s nearly midnight. A car goes by on the street.

“Okay?” Jack asks.

Eric nods quickly, pulling him back down. He arches his back, pressing his chest against Jack’s, and Jack’s mouth finds his again. Despite the risk of the bed making any more noise, Jack’s hips are moving in a steady grind. Eric is panting, his body almost vibrating with desire. His fingers slide on Jack’s smooth back, slick with sweat now, despite the air conditioning. Jack nibbles his lower lip and kisses his cheek and jaw; the faint scrape of his stubble against Eric’s skin makes Eric squirm, dick throbbing. Jack pins him down, the weight of his body holding Eric as a willing captive. Eric is having trouble catching his breath, and all at once he realizes he’s on the verge of coming in his shorts.

“Jack,” he gasps, but it’s too late, and he hisses, “shit, shit, oh shit,” as the orgasm seizes him. His hips jerk uncontrollably, his head falling back, and Jack muffles a groan against his throat, grinding into him hard. Eric is still shaking when he feels Jack go tense and still, and then Jack is rocking his forehead against Eric’s jaw and his dick is throbbing against Eric’s as he comes.

Eric goes limp all at once, but Jack relaxes more slowly. Eric’s shorts are sticky, smeary with semen, and he can feel the hot drip on his belly of Jack’s come where it spurted through the fabric of his briefs. It sends another shudder of desire through him; his dick gives a hopeful twitch. Jack huffs a laugh and lifts his head.

His blush is visible even in the low light, and Eric takes a deep breath as he rubs his thumbs across Jack’s cheeks. 

Jack swallows hard. “I didn’t—” he starts, and has to clear his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to… for that to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Eric says. Good lord, it’s more than _okay_. It was fucking amazing. He wants to do it again immediately, only this time he wants to be able to see Jack’s face when he comes. He cards his hands through Jack’s hair and can’t help beaming up at him. His whole body feels warm. Jack returns the smile and leans down to kiss him, sweet and soft.

The afterglow doesn’t last as long as Eric would like. His shorts are getting uncomfortable, and he has no idea how loud or obvious they were at the end there. He can’t hear any noise in the rest of the house, but Jack pulls away anyway, seeming to sense his unease.

Eric’s bathroom is across the hall, and Jack sticks his head out the door to check that the way is clear before disappearing into it. Eric pulls off his shorts and gathers up the rest of his discarded clothing. It goes in the laundry in a bundle, and he wipes himself off with a haphazard handful of tissues. Jack seems to be taking an awfully long time, Eric thinks, and then he realizes Jack went in there without anything to change into and is now trapped.

He finds Jack’s pajama pants in his bag and creeps across the hall.

“Hey,” Jack whispers, opening the door just wide enough for him to slip in. “Thanks.” He gives Eric a kiss, cool as anything, even though he’s standing naked in the bright bathroom light. He’s glorious, and his grin is an invitation. If Eric hadn’t come five minutes ago he’d be angling for another round.

Better not. It’s late, and they have to be decent for the crowd of Bittles and Phelpses that will descend on the house for the barbecue tomorrow. 

They brush their teeth in silence, standing close so they both fit in front of the vanity, and Eric tries not to scrutinize Jack too closely. But Jack is looking at him shamelessly, eyes wandering up and down Eric’s reflection even with his mouthful of toothpaste. When their eyes meet he smiles, the corners of his deep blue eyes crinkling, and Eric’s stomach flips over. 

This is real.

They take turns spitting and rinsing, and sneak back across the hall together. Eric climbs reluctantly into his bed alone while Jack settles down on the air mattress. A twin bed has never felt so big, especially when it smells like sex and Jack, and Jack is _right there_ on the floor beside him.

“Hey, Eric,” Jack whispers, after Eric has turned off the light.

“Yeah?”

“See you in the morning, eh?”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees. If he reaches out off the edge of the bed, he can squeeze Jack’s outstretched hand.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

Eric wakes just after dawn to the sound of Jack coming back from the bathroom. He’s dressed in running shorts and a Samwell T-shirt, and Eric hides his face under his sheet knowing full well what’s coming.

“Bits,” Jack whispers, coming close and—oh, he’s never been woken for a run before with a hand on his hip, gliding up the length of his body to his shoulder. “You up?”

“Am now,” Eric says, fully awake and half-hard in his pajamas.

Jack leans down and kisses his cheek, which makes him flush all over. “C’mon,” he says. “You and I have both got a summer regimen, eh?”

Eric sighs and sits up. He could suggest an entirely different sort of morning exercise, but Coach and Suzanne will be awake in half an hour and Jack—he should show Jack the neighborhood before it gets too hot.

He shoos Jack out in order to get changed, and joins him a few minutes later in the kitchen, still yawning. Jack gives him a slow once-over, smiling. Eric blushes again. Jack steps close and tips Eric’s chin up with a finger to kiss him. The house is silent. Eric sinks back down onto his heels, dazed.

“I could get used to that,” he whispers.

Jack smiles. “Me too,” he says, thumbing Eric’s lower lip.

“Okay, we gotta go, or we’ll never leave.” Eric’s heart is racing already. He can’t resist one more kiss, but then he nudges past Jack with a gentle hip-check and says, “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Jack lets him set the pace as they head out of the neighborhood. Eric’s old high school is only a mile away, and they reach the big main building in an easy ten minutes. Eric leads Jack around the campus to the sports fields and the track, and the minute they touch rubber Jack breaks into a sprint. It takes Eric aback, but only for a moment, and then he’s on Jack’s heels, dashing down the long straight-away. In a few seconds he’s level with Jack, and then ahead of him, and he throws his arms into the air as he crosses the starting line with Jack in his dust.

Jack’s laughing, resigned, as they come to a halt at the end of the track. Eric can feel the heat in his face, the sweat prickling at his temples and in the middle of his back. Jack is flushed too, glowing in the early morning light. He’s grinning and gorgeous and Eric could kiss him right now, if—no, he can’t.

The smile on Jack’s face fades a little, and Eric instantly feels horrible.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down at his feet. His sneakers are beat-up. “I—”

“Hey,” Jack says, taking the sleeve of his T-shirt between two fingers and tugging. Eric looks up. “It’s okay.”

“I just—”

“Let’s just run, Bits,” Jack says gently. “There’s more to see, eh? Before it gets too hot?”

They take the long way around the neighborhood, Eric pointing out houses of his family friends or old hockey teammates, and when they reach the house again a few miles later the sun is rising high. Jack has sweated through his T-shirt, and he plucks it away from his body as they stretch on the front sidewalk.

“How can you stand this heat?” he demands.

“Oh, is it warm?” Eric chirps. He’s been given enough grief over his commitment to layering during the school year.

Jack rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “A little,” he says.

“Wait till this afternoon,” Eric promises.

Jack says, “Ugh,” and when they reach the air-conditioned house he gives a loud groan of relief. Eric’s face flushes deeply; he’s grateful that he’s already red from the run. Suzanne is in the kitchen, making pancakes. The table is set for four: plates, napkins, placemats, gleaming silverware. Eric comes by his need-to-feed honestly.

“Morning, boys!” she calls. “Did y’all have a nice run?”

“It’s hot out,” Jack tells her.

“Bless your heart,” she says, grinning at him. “Did Dicky not warn you?”

“He tried,” Jack says, winking at Eric.

“Wash up and have a seat,” Suzanne says, waving them toward the kitchen sink with her spatula. “Dicky, can y’all make a grocery run before this afternoon?”

Eric splashes water onto his face. “Yes, mama,” he says. “I’m going to show Jack around town a little, I think. What time do we need to be back?”

“Your Aunt Nina and the kids are getting here at one,” Suzanne says, loading up a plate with perfectly round, golden pancakes. “Coach will be firing up the grill at two or three.”

Jack slides his chair a little closer to Eric’s as they sit down. Under the table, their knees just touch. Eric loses track completely of what his mama just said. “Okay.”

Suzanne puts the plate down between them as Coach comes into the kitchen, already wearing his favorite 4th of July shirt with the bulldog in a chef hat. “Dig in, boys.”

After breakfast, Jack and Eric shower—not together, unfortunately, but the sight of Jack coming out of the shower with his towel around his waist will never get old, so Eric decides he can live with it—and get dressed. It’s almost ten by the time they’re actually ready to go; Suzanne hands Eric a shopping list and the keys to the truck.

“Be good,” she says, as they leave.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eric mutters, pulling out of the driveway. Jack just laughs.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

They go to the ice rink first; Eric knew he could count on Jack to be genuinely interested in seeing where Eric learned to play hockey. The rink is closed for the holiday, but they sit for a minute outside the huge building. Eric thinks of late afternoons sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for his mama to pick him up after practice. The heat of the outdoors was always such a shocking contrast to the frosty interior.

Jack says, “I like it.”

“I’m sorry I can’t show you the inside,” Eric says.

“I’d have liked that, too,” Jack says, “but I know what an ice rink looks like.”

Eric laughs. “Rude, Mr Zimmermann.”

“Maybe you can draw me a picture of the layout, later.”

Eric punches his shoulder, comes up against a muscle essentially made of granite, and slides his hand up the back of Jack’s head instead, ruffling his hair. Jack grins, catching Eric’s hand, and kisses his knuckles.

Another car in the parking lot rumbles into life, and before he can stop himself Eric yanks his hand back. Jack raises his eyebrows at him but only says, “So do you have a Murder Stop N Shop here, too?”

It cracks the ice in Eric’s heart enough that he snorts as he starts the truck again. “Don’t let my mama hear you say that!”

“Never,” Jack vows, grinning.

The grocery store is a hotbed of everyone Eric knows, and they’re accosted a dozen times before they even make it through the fruit and vegetable section. At some point, probably while Eric is making small talk with his ninth grade math teacher, Jack vanishes with the shopping list.

Half an hour later, as Eric extracts himself from a conversation with two ladies from his mama’s aerobics classes, Jack appears beside him with a full cart and the list entirely crossed out. On the one hand, Eric wishes he’d been there to talk about _himself_ some in the face of all these acquaintances; on the other, Eric is glad he didn’t have to keep introducing him as his _friend_.

“Ready, eh?” Jack asks.

“Gracious, yes,” Eric breathes, and grabs onto his forearm for support. Jack laughs, and then pays for the cart full of groceries.

Eric tries to scold him for it, but he won’t hear it.

“Your family is hosting me for a whole week, Bits,” he says, wheeling the cart out to the truck. “It’s the least I can do.”

“That was almost a hundred dollars!” Eric yelps.

“Bittle,” Jack says in a voice that has always made Eric shut up and listen. “You should have seen the contract I just signed. It’s… _fine._ ”

Eric bites his lip. “Okay,” he says. “But don’t tell.”

“I won’t tell,” Jack vows.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

At one o’clock, the aunts, uncles, and cousins start to arrive. Jack visibly steels himself and then is the French Canadian charmer Eric has come to know. He’s exotic and northern and he’s playing up his accent a little, and Eric’s littlest cousins are instantly in love with him. He’s great with them, too, crouching down to their level to talk with them and letting them climb all over him. Jack seems a little more at ease with the kids than with all of Eric’s adult relatives. Eric can’t really blame him.

He and Eric sit on the patio together, eating Coach’s burgers and potato salad and drinking sweet tea. The first sip had made Jack grimace, but now he’s finished his glass and is eyeing Eric’s half-empty one.

“Nah uh,” Eric says, cradling the glass to his chest, rolling its icy rim against his collarbones, “you go admit to Aunt Nina that you liked it and you want more.”

Jack scowls at him—and Eric almost gives his glass up in the face of that scowl—but then he pushes himself to his feet and says, “ _Fine_.” He comes back with the pitcher. Eric is never going to let him live it down.

“Are you boys going to go watch the fireworks?” Suzanne asks around six, when Eric has eaten his body weight in deviled eggs and reapplied his sun screen three times. Being around Jack all day without getting to touch him has made him a little itchy and cranky, but that could be the heat. They’re sitting as close as is decent—Eric can feel the hair on Jack’s arm barely in contact with the hair on his own—but it’s not close enough.

Still, the question makes him sit up a little straighter, and he feels Jack turn towards Suzanne as well. “Yes?” he says. “I was thinking we’d go up to the ridge and try and see them up there.”

“Take the truck,” Suzanne says.

“You aren’t going?”

She shrugs and shakes her head. “We’ve seen them plenty. You should have a good view up there, though.”

Eric sits up a little straighter. “Can we take a few sleeping bags? If there aren’t any clouds tonight, I think Jack might like to see the stars.”

“Sure, honey,” Suzanne says. “Take whatever you want.”

Jack follows Eric to the attic, where the camping gear is stowed away until the next Bittle adventure. “She said anything,” Eric says, eyeing a stack of sleeping bags. How much padding is too much? What can he get away with before Jack starts to question his motives and Coach and Suzanne find them out?

“Then we should take everything, eh?” Jack says. “Within reason.”

Eric is so gone for him.

They pull as many sleeping bags as they can find down out of the attic, and follow them up with pillows from Eric’s bed and a couple of couch blankets from the den. His mom will definitely notice, but Eric doesn’t care anymore. The truck bed is no good to lie in, even if they were going to be innocent as lambs!

It won’t be dark until almost nine, but soon Eric is going out of his skin.

“We’re going to go,” he tells Suzanne, rather than alerting the whole family. “Try and get a good spot.”

Suzanne smiles and nods. “Okay,” she says. “Be good.”

Eric hopes the flush that rises in his face can be attributed to the heat that still hangs in the air. “Yep,” he says, and goes to find Jack again.

~*~ _X_ ~*~

They don’t need to get a good spot. Eric drives past the turn-off for the best view of the fireworks, where he can already see some tail lights gathering, and heads on down the road. Jack gives him a look across the cab when they turn onto private property. Eric grins at him, his stomach churning.

“Mama’s second cousin lives here,” he says, “but she’s in Iceland for her sixtieth birthday this month, so there’s no one home.”

“Good,” Jack says softly.

Eric swallows hard. He steers the truck down the long, unpaved driveway, and then turns off into the field. They bump along for a few minutes over the grass before they reach what Eric figures is about the middle. The fireworks will be visible over the trees to the south, so he parks near a tree and turns the truck off.

Jack unfastens his seat belt. “C’mon,” he says, as if Eric had plans to do literally anything else.

Eric unhooks the cover for the back of the truck and lowers the tailgate. There’s hardly any debris on the blankets and sleeping bags in the back, but he and Jack shake out the top layer all the same. Eric retrieves the beers he tucked away in the corner and offers Jack one.

“I’m good,” Jack says, settling down against the wheel well. He arranges a few pillows behind himself. “You can though, if you want.”

Eric takes one, because the nerves are going to get him if he doesn’t. He opens it, tucks the cap into his pocket, and crawls carefully across the truck bed to join Jack. Jack welcomes him with one outstretched arm, pulling Eric easily into the crook of his body. He’s big and warm and firm, and Eric fits just right against his side, his head on Jack’s shoulder and Jack’s hand resting on his chest.

“So, I really _have_ seen fireworks before,” Jack murmurs in his ear. His voice rumbles through Eric, and his lips are right against Eric’s forehead.

Eric takes a sip of the beer. “I know,” he says. “But you haven’t seen _these_ fireworks. These are Georgia fireworks, born and raised… just like me.”

Jack’s laugh makes Eric’s whole body shake. “I can’t wait,” he says, and tightens his arm around Eric. His hand slips down across Eric’s chest, petting slowly, and when Eric shifts to take another sip of his beer, Jack slides his arm underneath Eric’s elbow, so that his palm rests on Eric’s belly. As the first fireworks spiral upwards and burst, the boom lagging long behind the flash, Jack slides his fingers under the edge of Eric’s T-shirt and reaches skin. Eric drags his head along Jack’s bicep, trying to give Jack more room without being too obvious. Not that they have anyone to hide from out here. Jack is being about as subtle as a penalty buzzer, anyway.

The blood in Eric’s body is heating up and heading south, and he squirms again, his knees falling open. He puts the beer aside, tucked into the corner of the truck bed, where it might or might not spill on the sleeping bags later.

Another firework burst goes off above them, brilliant in the sky, and it lights up Jack’s face. Jack is smiling and his hooded eyes are predatory. “There are other things I haven’t done.”

“C’mere,” Eric says, reaching for him.

Jack closes the distance between them and kisses Eric soundly. He brings his hand up to cup Eric’s face, his fingers curling under the corner of Eric’s jaw. His lips are warm and plush; Eric can taste the beer on his own tongue and imagines Jack tasting it too. Jack’s tongue skims along the bow of Eric’s lower lip, coaxing his mouth open with gentle little flickers of pressure. Eric moans aloud, and Jack echoes it as he delves between Eric’s parted lips.

“You taste so good,” Jack murmurs, turning his body to get closer to Eric. 

Eric snorts, “Like Rolling Rock,” helplessly self-conscious.

“Like you,” Jack replies, and kisses him again. “ _Crisse,_ I could taste you forever.”

 _Good Lord_ , Eric thinks, grabbing at Jack’s shirt front and doing his best to get his tongue down Jack’s throat. Jack responds in kind, and in a moment they’re flat in the truck bed, cushioned by all the blankets and sleeping bags. They’ve packed enough for a family of six to go camping, and all he wants is to grind on Jack Zimmermann for an hour or two.

Jack seems on board with the plan. He drags Eric on top of him and arranges him to his own satisfaction; Eric’s thighs are spread wide, straddling Jack’s hips, and he braces himself on his elbows, framing Jack’s head. His hands sink into Jack’s hair, carding and tugging gently. Jack’s hands wander all over his body, smoothing his palms down Eric’s sides and gripping his ass, then pushing his shirt up his spine and splaying wide over his ribs. Eric groans, the sound muffled by Jack’s mouth, and Jack nibbles at his lower lip.

“What do you want?” Jack asks. “What do you want to do?”

“Everything,” Eric says seriously, staring down at him. “I want everything.”

Jack grins. “I don’t know if I’m up for _everything_ ,” he says, squeezing Eric’s butt, “but we can give it our best shot. What do you want _right now_?”

Eric’s stomach starts turning over in nervous anticipation. “I— I just want to kiss you for now,” he says, “but I definitely want that to lead to more.”

“Fair enough,” Jack says, and pulls him back down.

Jack doesn’t know it—okay, Jack might guess—but Eric has a haphazardly-assembled bag of _supplies_ stashed away in the truck along with all the more obvious gear. He bought new condoms right before Jack arrived, not trusting his old stash to be any good anymore, and nice lube from the internet. _Anal_ lube. It was embarrassing to buy and even more embarrassing to receive, but he has it secreted away and he’ll be damned if they don’t at least crack the bottle open. Even though, honestly, he’d be fine with blowjobs, or even hand jobs… whatever Jack wants, Eric is ready. 

Jack’s hands are staying longer and longer on his ass, every time they make their way down there, and Eric can feel Jack’s erection against his belly. It’s long and stiff, and if he squirms a little Jack’s breathing goes shaky. Eric’s hard too, eager, and he realizes that if they do too much more of this it will end up like last night. That was enjoyable, but it isn’t what Eric wants tonight.

“Jack,” he says, pulling back and lifting his hips a little. The space between them, barely an inch, seems like too much.

“I want to suck you off,” Jack says, all in a rush. “Can I do that?”

“Uh,” Eric says, lightheaded with possibility. “Yeah, okay, yes.”

They swap places awkwardly, giggling, trying to arrange their limbs without whacking one another, and then Eric is on his back among the blankets with Jack between his knees, pressing his thighs apart with strong, gentle hands. The night is hot, sticky with humidity; Jack’s palms ruffle the hair on Eric’s legs the wrong direction. His touch gets even softer as he reaches the tender skin at Eric’s inner thighs, and then his fingers dip underneath the hems of his shorts.

“These,” Jack says, “are criminal. Do you have any idea—?”

“Yeah,” Eric admits, unbuttoning them.

Jack grins at him, his teeth a flash of white, and gives Eric’s dick a squeeze on the way up to help with the zip. He strips Eric of the shorts carefully, and the snug briefs underneath, and then Eric is naked from the waist down in his daddy’s truck. Lord above.

The sky lights up with a shower of light, and the boom of the explosion follows a moment later. _This is too damn much,_ Eric thinks, pushing his own shirt up to expose his belly. It’s too perfect. He wants to memorize every moment of this night to relive when he and Jack are apart.

Jack bends his head and presses a kiss to Eric’s navel. His chin is prickly with stubble and it makes Eric laugh, sliding his hands into Jack’s hair. Jack glances up at him again, his long eyelashes fluttering in the dark. His breath huffs out, warm and humid, and Eric feels his cock twitch. It bumps the underside of Jack’s chin. Heat fills Eric’s face and belly, and he watches, rapt, as Jack’s big hand curls around his cock and strokes up and down, testing his reaction.

He breathes, “Yeah,” again. Jack’s lips part, and then the hot, slick tip of his tongue is catching the bead of pre-come that has welled up at the tip of Eric’s dick. “Oh, fuck.”

Jack smiles and licks him again, wetting his cock head all over. It’s almost too much sensation all at once; Eric wonders how much experience Jack has with cut dicks, and then all at once he can’t wait to see what Jack’s own dick looks like. He hasn’t played with foreskin before. Good Lord, he can’t wait. He squeezes his hands in Jack’s hair and Jack moans, opening his mouth wider. Eric’s head slips in between his lips, and Jack goddamn _slurps_ at it.

Eric says a few more bad words aloud, loving that he can’t be heard by anyone but Jack, the pleasure filling the pit of his hips. Jack’s other hand strokes up and down his side and belly, grasping and eager. He’s crouching over Eric, knees tucked underneath himself, but his knees have slid apart and Eric can see his hips hitching in the air. He sucks on Eric’s tip, working his cock deeper with each dip of his head, until Eric’s glans is rubbing against Jack’s palate and Jack is inhaling hard through his nose.

Eric’s hands start to wander, carding through Jack’s hair and sliding down to his neck and shoulders. He reaches under the collar of Jack’s shirt and squeezes his trapezius muscles. Jack groans, sucking him deeper. It’s so wet, so hot around Eric’s dick, and he can’t be sure he’s going to last long enough for Jack to fuck him. The excitement is already so overwhelming. He has to calm down. It’ll be over before it’s even started—

“What do you like?” Jack asks, pulling back. He rubs his tongue around Eric’s cock head, waiting for Eric’s answer, which means that Eric can barely give it.

“I like that,” he manages, finally, and Jack smiles. “God, Jack.”

“You taste _so_ good,” Jack says again. He tongues at Eric’s tip a little longer, sending flashes of pleasure up Eric’s legs and spine, and then ducks down to mouth at the base of his dick instead. His lips brush Eric’s balls, and then his hand is there, cradling Eric’s sac between his fingers.

“Shit,” Eric says, dropping his head back. His thighs spread wider of their own volition, heels sliding on the sleeping bag. Jack’s tongue meets his fingers, and then he sucks one of Eric’s balls into his mouth. “ _Shit_.”

Jack releases him to suck his own finger and then he dips between Eric’s ass cheeks.

“Can I—”

“I actually—” Eric says, struggling up onto his elbows. Jack pulls back instantly, eyes wide, but when Eric says, “I brought lube,” in a rush, his expression softens. “If you want.”

“Yes,” Jack says. “Where?”

“In with the beers.”

Jack laughs, bright and loud, and Eric squirms with delight. He grabs a handful of Jack’s hair and drags him—gently—up for a deep, dirty kiss. Then he lets Jack go, and stretches his hands up over his head while Jack rummages around in the bag Eric stowed away. He comes up with the bottle and doesn’t even laugh at it, just snaps it open and crawls back into position.

His fingers, when they touch Eric again, are chilly and slippery, but they heat up in a moment. Eric bites his lip to keep from whining too loud, but lets it go as the flash of another firework fans out above them. Jack licks his dick again, slips it into his mouth, and starts to suck him as he rubs his fingertips against Eric’s asshole.

“You can put them in,” Eric says. “I’m—that’s not new. I’ve done that.”

Jack groans around him, making him jolt with the sensation. Then the tip of Jack’s finger eases inside him, and he doesn’t have to keep his moan in. It’s perfect. Jack’s finger is perfect, reaching just deep enough inside him, and he braces his feet on Jack’s knees.

“Fu-uck,” he groans. “Jack!”

Jack’s other hand slides up over his belly, petting him, stroking his over-sensitive skin. Then he slides his arm underneath Eric’s ass, lifting him up a little, and Eric reaches down to link their fingers together. Jack squeezes his hand hard, sucking him deep into his throat. His finger slides in and out shallowly, every movement shocking in its intensity. Eric’s orgasm is suddenly right there, cresting inside him, making his dick swell and stiffen.

“Jack,” he gasps, “Jack, oh, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Jack nods, screwing his finger deeper, and Eric gives in, the intensity of it arching his shoulders off the sleeping bag. He shudders and sobs for long moments, throbbing with pleasure, the fireworks sparkling behind his eyes.

When he falls back to earth, Jack pulls off slowly, swallowing, and wipes his mouth on the inside of Eric’s thigh.

“Oh, gracious,” Eric sighs.

Jack’s laugh is thick and he disengages their interlaced hands. He slips his finger out of Eric’s ass; Eric feels empty in a way he never does when he does that to himself. He starts to close his knees, but Jack is in the way and not going anywhere.

“Bits,” Jack says, and then kisses the inside of Eric’s knee.

“I still want to fuck,” Eric says.

Jack laughs again. “Okay,” he says, “me too.”

“Good.”

“I, um, I also brought lube.”

Eric starts to giggle. “Did you bring condoms?”

“Yeah.”

“Same.”

“So we have plenty, eh?”

“I think we have _more_ than enough,” Eric says, grinning down at him.

Jack crawls up his body and rubs their noses together. “Good.”

He’s still fully dressed, which is totally stupid. “You should be naked,” Eric says, “or at least _this_ naked,” indicating his own state of near-undress.

Jack says, “True.”

“Kiss first.”

He tastes bitter, and Eric has never liked the taste of his own come—he’s tried it, who hasn’t?—but in Jack’s mouth it’s heady. He groans and licks deep, and Jack moans in return. He kisses Eric harder, almost biting at his mouth, his tongue pushing behind Eric’s teeth, and Eric cradles his head with both hands.

When they part, Eric asks, “How do you want to do it?” He has his legs hooked around Jack’s.

Jack hesitates. He chews his lip and looks down into Eric’s face, thinking. “It’d be easier with you on your front,” he says.

“Okay.”

“But I want to see your face.”

Eric blushes, his heart thumping. “Okay,” he says again, more softly.

Jack’s smile is shy. He ducks down to kiss Eric again, and Eric wants to absorb him. They kiss until they’re breathing hard again, murmuring into each other’s mouths; Eric says, “Okay, _now_ get naked.”

Jack undresses with record speed, shucking his jeans and briefs but leaving his T-shirt on. His underarms are dark with sweat, and he smells incredible as he crouches over Eric again. Eric presses his nose into the crook of his neck and inhales deeply. Jack’s dick brushes against his belly. It feels huge. Eric’s whole body tingles with anticipation.

“I’m going to need a lot of prep,” he whispers.

Jack moans in agreement, casting one hand out for the lube again. Eric hears the pop of the lid once more; he breathes out as Jack eases one finger back in. It’s not as intense now as it was when Jack was actually sucking his dick, but the pleasure still shimmers through him. His cock twitches, optimistic. Eric’s young; he could probably get it up again.

They don’t speak as Jack works his finger in and out, slowly; Jack is too busy watching Eric’s face, and Eric is occupied with trying to show him everything he’s feeling. Eye contact with Jack is always intense, but Eric has learned how to enjoy it. He stares back, counting Jack’s eyelashes, taking stock of the different shades of blue that ring Jack’s irises. The pink of Jack’s cheeks are visible even in the darkness. Several fireworks go off in sequence above them, and the light is reflected in Jack’s eyes. Jack kisses him, slowly, and slips a second finger in beside the first.

The stretch sends another sluggish pulse of arousal through Eric. He squirms, clinging to the Jack’s shirt, licking into Jack’s mouth and trying to relax. It’s so much more intense than when he does it himself. He can’t reach very deep without his wrist starting to cramp, but it’s always pretty good. Worth the effort.

Jack, though.

Jack’s fingers work deep, twisting carefully, flexing a little, every movement calculated to make Eric groan. He’s opening Eric up for his cock with the laser-like focus he exhibits on the ice, and Eric’s body is so ready. His dick is getting hard again at the idea of Jack being inside him, and at the pleasure that rolls through him as Jack rubs past his prostate.

“Okay,” he says, curling his toes on Jack’s bare thighs. “Okay, yeah, Jack.”

“You sure? I can— I can do one more.”

“No, I want…” Eric’s voice catches in his throat. This is it. “I want to move on.”

Jack nods, face serious. "Okay," he says, and eases his fingers out. He wipes them on his shirt and rummages around for a condom while Eric stares at the sky, his heart thundering in his chest. The fireworks have stopped and the night is quiet. Eric has no idea when the finale was. 

"Bittle," Jack says, laughter in his voice. "You with me?"

"Yeah, honey," Eric says, reaching for him. Jack leans down to press their mouths together, and with one hand lines himself up. The first press of the head of his dick makes Eric tense, but Jack makes a soothing noise into his mouth and he makes himself relax. It feels good—just strange. New. Jack eases his hips forwards and sinks in an inch, and it's _so_ much more than fingers. Eric groans and Jack replies, equally wordless. Eric clings to his shoulders, lifting his hips, and then Jack's hipbones are against his ass, and Jack is gasping into his mouth.

"Fuck," Jack says, " _Eric_."

"Jack," Eric replies. "Oh shit, Jack."

"Okay?" Jack asks.

" _Yeah_."

Jack starts to move, slowly, little hitches of his hips that grind his cock deeper into Eric's body. His lips are slack against Eric's, his breathing rapid. Eric breaks the kiss to nuzzle into his neck and lick at the layer of sweat there. He bites down and Jack moans, back rounding. Eric hauls his legs up to wrap around Jack's waist and— _there_. The angle is almost too perfect. Jack's stomach rubs the underside of Eric's dick and his cock reaches so deep inside him, rubbing all Eric's nerves the right way.

"You can go faster," Eric whispers.

Jack looks down at him. He's barely moving, just rocking his hips, his face tight with concentration.

"I won't break," Eric says.

"Crisse de câlisse d’ostie de tabarnak," Jack breathes, and he braces himself in the bed of the truck. The muscles in his arms are huge; Eric wraps his hands as far around them as he can. Jack's grin is crooked. When he moves again, it’s a slow drag out and away from Eric's body, and then a deep thrust in again. Eric's back arches as pleasure rockets up his spine. He digs his fingernails into Jack's biceps. Jack groans and does it again, and again, and in a minute or two they're moving together, Eric working his hips up toward Jack's thrusts.

"Oh my god," Eric hears himself saying, "oh lord, oh, sweetheart."

" _Bits_ ," Jack says, biting at Eric's mouth. Eric kisses him hard. He wraps one arm around Jack's neck and the other around his back and hangs on as Jack fucks him. His back is sliding on the sleeping bag. Jack's skin is damp with sweat, and Eric can feel his own perspiration prickling under his arms and at his hairline. It's hot, even at night, and under Jack's body it's volcanic. He wouldn't trade it for a cold night in Samwell, not right now.

He sinks a hand into Jack's hair and holds him in place for another deep kiss. Jack moans. His hips lose their rhythm and Eric starts to giggle.

Jack leans back, eyebrows raised, but the laughter is catching. He presses his forehead against Eric's as they laugh together. Eric sweeps his hands down Jack's back and up again under his T-shirt. When he kisses Jack again, it's with a sigh of fondness. Jack grinds his hips in a slow circle, and the sigh becomes a gasp. Eric's dick is leaking on his belly, his twenty-year-old libido making an impressive showing. Jack huffs a laugh and shifts his weight onto one hand, sliding the other between them to take Eric in hand. The slow grind turns into a rolling rhythm.

"Oh goodness," Eric whispers. "Jack, that’s—"

He's close, but he can't quite finish the sentence. His words want to come out garbled. He starts converting metric weight measurements in his head to volume. It's not easy on a normal day, but with Jack in him, over him, _everywhere_ , it's nearly impossible.

" _Jack_."

"God, you're gorgeous," Jack says, working his hand up and down Eric's cock. "You look so good, you're—" His praise dissolves into a blur of Québécois, which only serves to make Eric's arousal surge. Eric clings to him. His toes are curling.

"Jack, fuck, oh, Jack." He tosses his head on the sleeping bag, frantic. His face is on fire and his cock is swelling in Jack's grip.

"Yeah," Jack agrees, squeezing him, rubbing his thumb against the underside of Eric's cock head. The pleasure spikes, all at once, and Eric grips the back of Jack's neck hard as he spurts over Jack's hand, swearing. Jack groans loudly, hips jerking, his face going slack. Eric can’t look away. God, he’s perfect: strong and sweet and full of emotion.

A moment later, Jack relaxes, curling down and tucking his face into the crook of Eric’s neck. Eric gapes at the sky, his hands wandering across Jack’s back. Jack presses a kiss to the skin beneath his lips. He eases his hand out from between them to get hold of the condom instead, and when he pulls out Eric moans at the loss. Eric's legs fall loose around Jack's hips. His own come is drying on his stomach and he doesn't really care. The stars are steady above him as Jack rummages around for a tissue or a napkin.

"Hey," Jack whispers, coming back. He brushes his lips against Eric's.

Eric sighs deeply and wraps his arms around Jack's neck, smiling. "Hey."

He wants to stay out here forever. If it weren’t for the mosquitos, and the humidity, he might suggest it.

“My _maman_ and I are going to look at apartments in Providence in August,” Jack says. “You should come help.”

Eric pulls his head back to look into Jack’s eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. She was thinking the end of the month. If you want, you… you could come up and then go right back to Samwell.” Jack stares at Eric intently, as if he’s trying to read Eric’s mind before he’s even made it up. Eric bites his lip.

“I think that could work,” he says.

Jack smiles, and his gaze softens. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll figure something out.”

~*~ _X_ ~*~

They drive back to the house in silence, but Jack keeps his hand on Eric's thigh the whole time. He doesn't tease, just rests it there, like he can't stand to lose contact. Eric keeps sneaking glances at him across the dark cab and Jack catches him every time, smiling softly.

Sneaking up on the house in the truck is a tall order, but Eric turns off the headlights as they drive up and they close the doors quietly. The house is dark; it's after midnight, and his parents have been in bed for hours. They creep inside and Eric leads the way upstairs, stepping on the edges of the treads. Jack makes one squeak anyway. Eric can hear Coach snoring in his parents' room; it isn't until they're safely inside Eric's bedroom that he feels like he can breathe.

"I'm taking a shower," Jack says.

"What?!" Eric hisses.

Jack shrugs. "I'm covered in sweat and mosquito bites, among other things, so I'm showering before I get into bed." He hesitates. "You could join me?"

"That's—" Eric pauses. A shower sounds nice, actually, despite the hour. His parents wouldn’t _investigate_ the sound of the shower running. "Okay, yeah."

Jack grins.

The shower isn't really big enough for both of them. Jack is so big, and watching the water make tracks down his muscular body makes Eric feel faint, and then Jack pulls Eric into his arms and grabs his ass and mutters, "God, your _butt_. You’ve been doing squats, eh?”

“Eating a lot of protein,” Eric says. Jack’s laugh echoes off the tiles.

Back in his bedroom, clean and damp and exhausted, Jack climbs into Eric's bed and Eric can't bear to turn him away. Jack sneaks his hands up under Eric's shirt and rests his head on Eric's shoulder. His breathing is steady and warm over Eric's collarbones. He smells good, like Eric's shampoo.

They have a week, Eric thinks. A week to do _that_ at least five more times. Seven if he can manage it. Then Jack has to be back in Providence for the team, and Eric won't see him until August. It feels like too long already. 

Plans unspool in his mind, anticipation for the upcoming semester, and he falls asleep with Jack's arm heavy across his middle and one of Jack's legs thrown over his. It's the best night of sleep he's had all year.


End file.
